


The End of Everything

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29234019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Rey and Kylo awake to find they'd survived the battle of Exegol, one thing becomes painfully clear. They may have defeated Palpatine... but they still lost. They still losteverything.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 55
Kudos: 100
Collections: Reylo Creatives: Anniversary Exchange 2021





	1. The Blue Strike of Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhereTheFunEnds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereTheFunEnds/gifts).



\--------------------------

The sky is burning.

Rey blinks, unsteady, her eyes fogging in and out of focus. Lightning has seared streaks through her retinas but she can still see beyond their ghost-glow of blue. Past those visual echoes, she sees the jarring red-yellow of fire; the black of smoke.

The sky is _burning._

Ships go up in bomb-like detonations and the blasts pummel the air so hard that she can feel it in her chest. Far from that sky, she’s been laid low. Tunneled deep down in a darkness that mirrors the color of night, Rey lays silent, unmoving, on Exegol’s throne room floor.

At first, she’s not even sure she’s alive.

The Jedi of old had spoken in her mind, like she’d begged them to, and they’d filled her with such courage. Strength. Conviction. Now they’re gone… and she thinks she might be dying. She knows what it feels like to be wounded, beaten, left bloody, sick with fever, starved – but nothing had felt quite like this. This was... hollow. This was like the sky melted in booms above her, but she had no ears to hear it. The world had reduced to a steady whine and a heaviness in her body that made it hard to move. She tries to roll, tries to get up – but she can’t. It doesn't even hurt, and that’s probably the most dangerous part.

Black hovers in the corner of her eye, and she imagines that this must be the end - until her body shifts, lifting limply into arms she can barely feel. Someone is holding her, and it brings her back into herself, making her fall gently into her pain. Her teeth grit and she hisses, all sound muffled. There is a low murmur – like speaking, but only if you took everything but the bottommost notes away. Blinking her dry eyes, she looks at her captor and sees… Kylo Ren.

Ben.

His eyes are watering pools of emotion as he cradles her, looking into her face. She feels her hand slide over his, squeezing weakly, and he looks like he might cry. Her heart aches for unknown reasons, perhaps a sort of longing, and it makes her smile. After all this time, all her waiting – months and months of wishing he would come to her – he finally had. She’d been so angry at him for not choosing her. Hurt. Betrayed. Enraged. She had hoped _so much_ during such a short span of time. Now, he’s finally here.

Her smile grows into a grin. She can’t help but lean towards him and kiss him. _Kiss him._ She clutches his face as feeling returns to her body in tingling aches… but they’re muted. Distant. Drowned out by the feeling of his lips. 

When she pulls back, his expression is soft – like he’s just woken from a dream. It's something she’d never seen before, never even knew existed and when he can’t help but smile back, all teeth and smile lines, she thinks her heart will somehow shatter.

Shatter.

Like the ships in the sky.

Her eyebrows knit and she gathers herself, arching her back to tilt her pounding headache towards the grey-and-black billows above them. It’s surreal – like faraway metal triangles are cascading to the ground followed by smaller letter x-es as they puff out clouds of fire behind them.

“Ben,” she whispers.

“I know,” is all he says.

She can’t see his face, her eyes are locked on the lightning that flickers in the death above them. At this rate – there will be no one left. At this rate…

“Were we too late?” he completes her unspoken thought.

It’s only when she gasps that she realizes she’d stopped breathing. The ground beneath them trembles with the explosions of steel hitting rock, both all around them and far away.

“We need off this planet,” her voice is like a sigh of terrible awe.

“For once, I agree with you.”

Something hits her then – hits him too, and hits _hard._ It’s like something has slammed into her chest and she cries out, grasping at it – even though the action is pointless. He grunts beside her and doubles over, heaving nothing onto the ground. She realizes she’s wailing.

What’s happened? What’s _happening?_

She doesn’t know – only that it _hurts._

And darkness takes her down, down and away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wakes with a start, breath hitching into his chest in a harsh gasp. His body rockets up into a half stand before the bones in his broken leg grind viciously. Grunting, he lands back down on a hurt knee, throbs of pain running through every sinewy muscle. His heart hammers. His chest _hurts._ There’s something wrong in the air, in the Force itself, but he can’t get a sense of what it is. Casting his eyes around, he finds her pale clothes like a bright light in the darkness.

“Rey…” he pants out her name, the all-to-familiar fear of her death flooding him. She doesn’t move. 

_“Rey,”_ he says a bit louder, more firmly. If he has to say her name again, it will come out broken, he knows.

She sniffs in sharply, arching her back and pressing her arms straight, picking herself up off the rock-faced floor. Blood trickles from above her eyebrow where a decent welt is bumping up beneath the skin.

Relief. Gods, he’s never been filled with such _relief._

She pulls herself into a kneel, immediately rocking back to her haunches, dizzy. “What happened? Something…” she trails off, rubbing her chest and wincing.

“Yes. Something.” Kylo works to slow his breathing as he looks at the bodies of the dead around them. Some in skin, some reduced to dust – but all dead, just the same.

He tries to get up again and favors his broken leg, hobbling, and she’s up and on him in a minute. He doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing. He does ready his arms though, just in case he needs to fend her off. After all, every time he sees her, they fight. 

Even so, he had come to her. _For_ her. 

And she’d kissed him. 

No woman had ever kissed him. Barely even his mother. Whatever compelled her, he doesn’t know – but that doesn’t mean it was real. It was likely something temporary. Fleeting. A whim. Why do people kiss each other, anyway? Gratitude? Love?

Apprehension roils within him, but she doesn’t notice it. Wavering on her feet a little, she smiles at him. _Again._ A second smile and his lips can't help but quirk in return. She stares at him like he’s a ghost – or like she’s in awe – hovering near him like she’s unsure of what to do with her own body. 

“Hi.” It comes out breathless.

Wary, but amused. “Hi.”

Her smile widens and she huffs a laugh, putting her hands on her hips. “You came.”

Looking straight at her, into her, just like always. “I did.”

Her dimples dig deep into her cheeks, and Kylo can’t help but find her adorable. She only manages another step, though, before vertigo makes her reel. He steps out to catch her, and lets out a hard bark of pain when he puts too much weight on his bad leg. She’s in his arms again, though – and so it doesn’t matter how much it hurts.

He’s aware of everything about her. From her warmth, to her breath, to the hammering of her heart as it rests against the arm that steadies her.

“You’re not alone,” he reminds her, his voice nearly a whisper.

Her laugh almost sounds like crying, and her shoulders shake.

“I couldn’t leave you alone,” he continues. “I’ve _never_ wanted to leave you alone. Not since…” Since the beginning, really. Since the moment he’d first heard the phrase, ‘The Girl.’

Thin fingers wrap around his arm as it holds her. They stay like this for a few, brief minutes until Rey rights herself with a heavy snuffle. Still facing away, her hand passes over her eyes in a rough scrub before she turns to look at the sky again.

“Ben? How long have we been out for?”

Kylo lifts his sight toward the enormous hatch in the ceiling and views a now-smokeless sky. “Long enough for the dust to settle.” 

Something rumbles underground and a wave of pain from his shin rolls through him, making him a bit nauseous. He works his jaw to hold in any sounds of discomfort. Whatever comes next, he needs to remain strong.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask.

She looks over her shoulder at him plainly. “We leave.”

 _Together?_ is what he needs to know, but he’ll never bother asking. Whenever he asks her anything, it goes wrong. Better to just assume, like he did today.

But, no – he didn’t assume; he knew. 

She needed him, was in over her head – she just was too young to realize it. Young enough to think she’d live forever. He’s caused enough death to know that it comes for everyone, in the end – and villains and heroes tend to suffer sooner.

The look she casts his way is one of hope. It’s nearly staggering how foolish she is. She’s not even thinking of what the future holds. For her; for him. She’ll have a home to go back to, at the very least. Her side won, it seems. 

Him? He’s not on any side anymore. After this, no one will have him. Not the Dark. Not the Light. But… maybe her. In his wildest dreams, it’s always her.

Realism sets in and sours the feeling her hope sparks in him. She has a home with friends, which is all she ever wanted. Kylo Ren would never be allowed to exist there – wouldn’t even want to, if he could – so, no. His dream remains just that. He saved her, though. That means something. That’s enough.

He can leave her be now.

Still that hopeful look remains, and Kylo’s heart aches with a certain sort of longing. Something childish in him wants to scream, ‘I love you,’ just to see what happens. It will be easier if she flees, again. He’s not sure he has it in him to step away. He doesn’t know how to love. Not _really._ Yet, in his way – that’s exactly how he feels. Obsessed. Taken over. Leashed to her. He can blame it on the Force, on their dyad. It’s easier to justify these feelings when they’re not his fault. 

“I’ve been here before,” he clears the crackling in his throat and leans, painfully. “If the lifts are still working, we can get back to our fighters.”

She cocks an eyebrow at him, “Fighter-s-? You got a ship?”

“No, I flapped my arms to get here.” He shrugs roguishly without looking at her reaction, puffing dirty strands of hair from his eyes. Clarifying, “I took an Imperial Tie from the wreckage.”

She looks both stunned and delighted. “On Kef Bir.”

He nods, roughly.

Scoffing, “From _Death Star_ wreckage. And it actually _worked?”_

His lips quirk again. “I made it work.”

She snorts her laughter, stepping in and reaching for him. He tenses for only a minute before she loops his arm over her shoulders, helping to support his weight, still chuckling. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He flicks his head back, cocky. “I’m resourceful.”

“And a tech-savvy pilot evidently.”

Not without bitterness, “Like father, like son.” 

And he knows it was the wrong thing to say. Rey falls into silence as she moves him forward into a stilted walk. They continue at a maddeningly crippled pace for a bit and his patience wears thin. This wound isn’t something he can use the Darkness to power through, no… this is something that, if done wrong, makes a difficult-to-mend _mess._

She pauses for a moment to release him and the hollowness in his chest is immediate. Needy. He’s always been too damned _needy._ Hungry. Craving. Touch-starved. He needs it, wants it, would beg for it. For _her._ Only her. But he’ll never have her.

Kylo reminds himself, _At least she’s alive._

Away from him, she bends to pick up the sabers and he can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief when she returns. Perhaps she’ll think it’s just because she’s helping to take the weight off his soon-to-be-compound fracture. 

It’s preferable if she thinks that.

~~~~~~~~~

_He came,_ still sings through her like a strand of music on repeat; a beautiful chorus of instruments she’s never heard. She’s all nerves and wiry anxiety. Is he ‘Ben?’ Is he… good? Who is she carting through this desolate blue cavern of dead Darksiders?

Her stomach rumbles; they must have been out for a while. It dawns on her that Luke’s ship had no portions. No water. Both of which she’s in desperate need of. Ben’s Silencer had them – before she lit it on fire, anyway. A horrible waste, that was. Worth so much food.

“I was going to run away from all this,” she can’t help but confess.

He looks at her with an unreadable expression.

“When I thought that I’d…” she shakes her head. Gaze trailing down his body, she places her fingers through the hole in his shirt and brushes his skin. It’s more intimate than she’d intended and he shivers, doing something foreign to her senses. Jerking back a little, she clears her throat. “I just couldn’t handle it anymore. Not after doing that to you.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

She gives him the sarcastic side eye as they hobble along.

“I only wanted to exhaust you, which I was doing fairly well at, I’d say. I thought if I could slow you down, maybe you’d listen.”

Scoffing, “Listen more to how I should join the Dark side?”

He sighs, dragging along next to her, giving her the least amount of his weight possible. “Point taken.”

They pass in silence for a bit. It’s hard work lugging this beast around – no matter _how_ little weight he’s putting on her. They’re both starting to sweat, and all she can hear is the echo of their boots, shifting debris, and distant lightning shattering the sky.

It dawns on her, then. “Stop, wait,” she plants her heels. “You said you’d been here before.” Not a question.

He tenses, as if ready for a fight. His jaw ticks from left to right and his lips purse slightly. “Yes.” It comes out wary. She’s not sure why he’s on his guard, but she puts that aside for now.

“We need to find a hangar.”

His eyes blink at her, not following.

“My ship is an X-wing – yours is a Tie. They won’t fit us.”

A look comes over him that makes her cheeks turn pink. It’s that same soft look from right after she’d kissed him. Remembering the moment, she looks away, shyly.

His voice is deep and resigned. “I can’t go wherever you’re going.”

And, just like that, her eyes are on him again. Her brows are knit, drawing a deep line up her bleeding forehead. She swallows heavily, heart filling her throat. “But – I thought…?”

He stares into the distance and just shakes his head, softly. “I never wanted to go to them. I only wanted…” his words fail him. He looks at her for a long time before his gaze falls to the floor.

Tears fall from Rey’s eyes. “Your mother?”

His head snaps up as he looks at her, wounded, somehow. As if she’d not understood something. Still, she grips him, feeling her own deep frown on her face.

“I’m so sorry, Ben. I’m sorry that you never get to go home to her.”

It’s like she said something that cut him; he visibly flinches and shifts to pull from her. 

“Please!” she tries to wrap her fingers around his arm before he can lurch away. “I loved her, too. I wanted to go home to her, too.” And now she’s crying. 

Leia. The closest thing she’s ever had to a mother – gone. And, in her last minutes, she hadn’t come to give strength to Rey; she’d called out to her son. Her estranged, murderous, patricidal son. It stings like a whip against her. After months of being by her side, listening to her every phrase as if it was a drop of wisdom from the sky… she’d not been the one in Leia Organa’s heart, in the end.

He grips her, blinking back his anguish. “I’m sorry.”

They stand still like that for a minute, Rey trembling while he tries not to lose his composure. Somehow, their hands intertwine, and it's comforting. She wants to be held – held _tight._ Finn would understand. Suddenly, all she wants is her friend – but she left him on a world far away from here.

 _Good,_ she thinks. _At least he’s safe._

That doesn’t change the aching emptiness inside. Looking at Ben – he’s wrecked; everything about him. Dirt, sweat, soft tears, blood, tatters – maybe he needs what she does. Maybe he’s empty, too.

In only a few months, she’s soaked up physical affection from her friends like sand sucks up water. She’d never known how _needy_ she was until she’d finally gotten a taste of it. The warmth and comfort. The sweetness of being cared for.

Has anyone cared for Ben? If so – not in a long while, which is why it makes complete sense to her when she pivots against him and folds herself into his arms. Maybe it’s on purpose or maybe it’s just by instinct, either way, she curls under his chin and grips him as tightly as she dares, holding back only to avoid reopening his wounds.

The sound he makes is heartbreaking. A sound that pulls from his chest in shock. She can’t place it – has never heard it – she only knows that she needs this hug to last. For him; for her. She needs to be in his arms. Needs to _hold him._

But he pushes her away.

It’s not unkind. He squeezes her shoulders in a way that offers sympathy, but he won’t meet her eyes. Her lips harden into a straight line and her pride hurts a little. Still –

“We need a bigger ship, Ben. We need food, supplies. We won’t fit together in those tiny fighters, and I’m not leaving here without you.”

He scolds, disbelieving. “Bringing me to my execution, then?” When he looks at her, it’s simmering with sarcastic anger. “Or have you not thought through what they’d do to me?”

She hadn’t, in truth.

She links his arm back around her, pulling them forward again. “We’ll figure that out later. For right now – I’m staying with you.”

His voice is soft, but still somehow cruel, “I didn’t know you were one to abandon your friends so quickly. Abandon them for a _monster_ like me.”

But she doesn’t take his bait. “You’re my friend, too. Even if you’re a monster.”

He’s looking at her, she knows he is – but the blush on her cheeks keeps her eyes forward.

“Besides – I considered being a hermit and letting the galaxy burn. Maybe I leave people easier than you think.”

He snorts. It’s loud and echoes a bit, which brings the grin back to her face. Finally, he relents, and begins to hop alongside her a bit faster.

“I’m not sure about provisions – but I’m pretty sure I can find one of the hangars.” He tilts his face towards her and scrunches his nose a bit. “With any luck – we won’t have to try to fly a dreadnought.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, they’d focused on the problem of the hangar, making the (correct) assumption that an intact transport would have provisions onboard.

Kylo appreciates the word _intact,_ as there’s not much else in this hangar that is. In fact – a good portion of it is still either on fire, billowing smoke, molten, or in embers. He and Rey duck as well as they can under the burning cloud that chokes their lungs as they stumble forward. He can’t hold on for much longer – no matter how much it hurts his pride. Snoke would whisper in his mind of weakness… but Snoke is gone.

She basically drags him onto the first ship she can get open, dropping him and letting him land hard. Kylo feels like he’s going to faint any moment – but, ah, this is where the Darkness has its uses. 

For the first time in a _very_ long time, drawing on it brings a sense of shame – especially in her presence. She eyes him warily, like she can feel what he’s doing, and maybe she can. He’s sensed her, read images in her mind from lightyears away – who’s to say that she can’t feel his intentions now?

She’s bent over, hands on her knees, and panting. They both reek of sweat and panic. Without a word, she stomps through the ship, leaving him there to try and hold onto the thin thread of his consciousness. Alone, he’s not sure how much time passes before she comes back with a firm frown.

Resting her hands on her hips, “We have supplies. Food, water – even a water recycling system.”

He grimaces at the thought, but lets it pass.

“But it’s not enough. We need more.”

Grunting, he tries to sit up, but she waves him back down.

“I’m not moving you again.”

He quirks a brow. “Afraid of a little hard work?”

She sighs. “Afraid of breaking you.”

He settles back, yet another sour expression on his face. He hates looking weak – yet somehow, she’s an exception. Has always been, really. Ever since she connected to his mind, all he’s shown her is fragility and desperation. It’s disgusting. “What’s the plan, then?”

Nodding, she breathes in deeply. “I go back out there. I need to find something to protect from the smoke, but there are three other transports here that aren’t death-traps; I’ll snag their supplies.”

“If they have any,” he adds.

“Pessimist.”

He smiles softly. “Story of my life, I’m afraid.”

She looks at him with a smirk before directing her gaze at the sealed entrance. “What are the chances that I can find the galley in this fortress? Even Sith need to eat.”

“Not always,” he informs her. Thinking on it a minute, “And I’d say chances are low. You’ve felt the explosions beneath us. I think your Resistance must have triggered something to detonate the fleet underground. I’m not sure what’s happening down there – but the way the floor is rocking doesn’t comfort me any.” He sighs through his nose. “I’d rather move up and out as soon as we can – but we have to be cautious. Who knows what’s happening in the outer atmosphere. Or even just somewhere on the other side of the planet.”

Somehow, she giggles. He looks at her in plain confusion; incredulous, really. How can this possibly be funny?

“You know – I think that’s the second longest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

After a moment’s pause, he coughs a sound that could be a laugh, but ends in a hiss as something in his side knits into a stitch. She kneels by him and places a hand on his chest. Her eyes are on his, wide and filled with something he doesn’t understand – until he does.

He launches his hand up to grab hers. “Don’t.”

She blinks at him. “Don’t what?”

“Heal me. I don’t know what happened with Palpatine, but I know that when I got myself out of that damned hole,” he breaks off, swallowing, “it was like you were dead. I couldn’t feel you anymore and I... let’s just say, I need your strength to stay right where it is.”

She looks at him and her thumb starts to stroke patterns. He imagines it should excite him, but somehow, it just makes him want to sleep. Preferably with her continuing that one, small motion of comfort.

“Did you feel it, Ben? After we kissed…” her cheeks turn pink, and it does something to him to see it. 

She _does_ regret it, then – is embarrassed by it. Just as he expected, really. 

She goes on to say, “Something hurt… inside. Something was wrong and I felt it everywhere. In my body – all around me.”

He nods, removing her hand to ensure he doesn’t misunderstand her intent any further. “I felt it, too. Something happened in the Force. I felt the same sort of thing only once before – when Hux destroyed the Hosnian system.” He blinks up at her. “It hurt then, but this was so much more. It’s like the Force was screaming.”

He lets his head fall back against the wall behind him, exhausted. “I don’t know what we’ll see up there, but I know that it won’t be good.”

She looks at the hand that touched him with a sad expression. Seems like she regrets that small kindness, too. Her voice is tentative when she asks, “Did you want them to destroy it?”

He shakes his head, slowly. “I wanted to destroy the New Republic – but not like that. _Never_ like that. I wanted to kill the government itself, not the system of those who it lived in.” He swallows thickly, only now realizing the truth of the sentence. Something he’d buried deep, so Snoke wouldn’t see his conflict. So he wouldn’t have to question his role in all of this.

What’s his role, now?

Fugitive, he supposes.

She doesn’t look at him, but her voice is almost a whisper. “Why did you come here?”

He doesn’t answer.

Her eyes fly to him then, hard and demanding. Ah, that temper of hers. _“Why did you come here,_ Ben?”

He’s never lied to her; never shied away from being rejected by her, either – so why start now?

“Haven’t you noticed? I’ve been trying to be with you any way I could since we first connected. I wanted to be your teacher. I wanted you to join me. I wanted you to fight beside me instead of against me. Why did I come here? _For you._ Because I won’t abandon you. I can't.”

Her whole face is red, and her eyes shimmer with wetness. This is when she’ll run. This is where she’ll make her excuses and start thinking about where to leave him. She doesn’t feel the same – never has. When she’d been empathetic, it was only because she’d imagined a hurt Jedi boy she could save from himself. 

“But, now you’re safe – and maybe that’s enough. If we connect from time to time within the bond, we’ll never truly be alone. I can let that be enough.”

 _I’m very good at being cast aside,_ he thinks. If not good at it – resigned to it. Any pain he feels is another weakness to bury.

She stands, sniffing and wiping her eyes quickly. Without looking at him, she says, “I’ll go to the other ships so we’ll get off-world as fast as possible. Then, we’ll see what’s really out there.”

He nods. _Then you’ll see where you can leave me behind, safely. I do think you’ll at least try to keep me safe. Why save my life only to let me die?_

He can’t help but huff a sardonic laugh. May as well seal the deal. “I like this. I like being around you when you’re not trying to kill me… as if we’re still by the fire. I remember that fire every time I close my eyes.”

His heart aches, but so does the rest of him. If she’s giving him any reaction at all, he decides that he doesn’t care. Instead, Kylo gives up, letting unconsciousness take him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She looks down at him, worrying. Her face burns from every word he’s said. Her heart is thrumming and her stomach is in knots. He’s always too honest. She can _never_ be that honest. She’s never admitted her darkness to him – even though he saw it anyway. She’d never let on that she was just as haunted by him as he was by her, either. Though, after what he just said, maybe he didn’t see it as a curse, as she did. For her, it was a constant reminder of her stupidity for going to him. Her failure to turn him. Her childish hopes of finding a kindred spirit. Her idiotic need to be known by someone. Anyone. 

No one knows her, not really, but he comes the closest. Perhaps he knows her even more than she does, sometimes. Will she get to know him the same way? What would life be like if she stopped fighting it every time she felt him in her mind?

Kneeling beside him, she’s fixated on his face, so relaxed in his slumber – even though his brows still knit with pain.

“You’re not awake to stop me, so...” She runs her fingers over his loose shirt softly, afraid to wake him but fascinated by the feel of the foreign cloth under her fingertips. It’s stiff with clotted blood in places, well worn in others… but she still wants to rest her face against it. Instead, though, she spreads her fingers and closes her eyes, focusing her energy on him, entirely. Everything swells within her like heat, and she guides it into the man before her. 

She’s pouring too much of herself into him, she knows – and she has no idea if this lifeforce will come back to her, or if she’s spending years of her life by healing him again and again. And, even if she is, would that stop her?

No. One way or another, Rey needs Ben Solo to _live._

It’s like she’s made of his flesh. Without him staring at her like last time, she can be more focused on the feeling of him knitting back together under her palm. His bones rethreading their connection, his wounds sealing and new skin blooming. No scars. No pain. As if he were new.

He stays asleep and she wavers above him, nearly vomiting as she steadies herself on his chest. He was right – she shouldn’t have done this. Not _now_ at least, especially since…

She looks towards the door, knowing there’s danger beyond it. There are more transports to scavenge. Three. And she’s already so exhausted she can’t imagine taking another step.

Glancing at Ben, whose brows have relaxed, she decides to commit something like a sin; she decides to take a hold of the Darkness. It’s so easy – much easier than she’d hoped it would be… and that disgusts her.

She uses her fear of her own pain, her fear of losing him, her fear for her friends’ lives. 

She uses her anger at Ben for not turning to her sooner. Her hate for her _grandfather_ for his very existence. Her fury at every occultist who stared her down, just waiting for her to absorb his soul like a God of Death and Decay.

Disgust. She’s disgusted by that decrepit thing that sucked the soul from their dyad. Disgusted by her _lineage._ And disgusted by her own inability to stay steadfast in the Light. The Jedi had finally ‘been with her’ – but only to use her.

Strength returns to Rey’s body and rage fills her with the energy to move. To get out of here. To _break_ something. Which is good – because that’s exactly what she needs to do.

Rey rips a bit of her shirt off, exposing her midriff, and wraps the scrap over her mouth and nose, preparing to go out into the fire and do what she does best.

Bring home portions.

And scavenge.


	2. The Nothing of Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains suicidal ideation.

\--------------------------

He wakes with a jolt, the floor of the ship bucking beneath him, lifting him up and dropping him like a bad habit. It trembles as he hears a scraping sound on the outer hull and curses fill his mind. Pressing himself into a push up, he thrusts into a run for the cockpit. He’s so focused on the immediate danger, he completely forgets that he’s supposed to be in pain.

Rey’s also throwing out foul language – but in Huttese. In another circumstance, it would be endearing. Right now though? She’s trying to pilot a two-man ship on her own.

Stubborn.

Without a single word, he straps in and acquaints himself with the dash. It takes only moments before he’s clicking and flicking switches, glancing out of the viewport just in time to pivot them away from another hangar wall.

“I can _do it!”_ she yells at him, but he only scoffs before returning to the task at hand. They start working in tandem, despite her grumbling, to help guide their craft away from the partition that it’s currently shaving steel off of.

After one last grinding drag, they’re free and Kylo barks out the order, “Run diagnostics before we take this thing up – if we have a hull breach, I’d prefer to know about it _before_ we implode.”

The woman spits filth at him in several languages – some of which he doesn’t even know, but he’s smart enough to connect the dots.

“You know I _can_ hear you,” he states, engaging deflectors to protect against the heat that warps the rest of the hangar. Gauging the installed weaponry, this thing has only a minimal probability of survival in an aerial dogfight – that’s even if they get the chance to _be_ in the air. If this craft isn’t viable, at least the other ships lie in wait as alternatives.

“Clear – we pass checks,” she grumps – but he’s satisfied.

“You know how to fly captain’s chair?”

She grunts and jostles the throttle forward, angling them for ascent. Amused at being ignored, he quirks his lips. She’s furious – as she often is – and he wonders what happened while he was out cold. Still, there are more pressing matters. He kicks in the thrusters to push them far enough to the left that she can lift them into the sky.

What they see when they get topside is…

Horrifying.

Even for him – which is truly saying something.

Dreadnoughts are down. Fighters have been obliterated. The ground is ablaze with the aftermath of cannonfire and ships that must have burst into pieces when they hit the planet’s surface. Metal spikes point dangerously into the air, raking through the billowing smoke that blows over the junkyard of decay.

Swallowing, he scans for life. The array onboard is narrow, but it’s an ‘Order ship, so the tech is solid. The Emperor loved nothing more than a good piece of hardware. Or five thousand of them.

The results confirm: varying sizes of aircraft lay dead… and so does everyone inside of them. Hundreds of thousands, easily.

“Rey,” he says, nearly a whisper. When he looks at her, she’s trembling, white-knuckling a heavy grip on the console.

“They’re all gone, aren’t they?”

He nods once, softly, pursing his lips. “This must be what we felt, the disturbance in the Force. Maybe it hit us so hard because we were so close.”

She bobs her head in vague understanding before leaning forward and looking down, unwilling to stare at the destruction. He reaches out gently – so gently – and puts his hand over her back. He waits for her to buck him off but she doesn’t and, for that, he’s grateful.

“Do you want to search the rest of the planet?” he asks, flicking more buttons with his free hand. “Radiation is filtering from these ships’ cores – this area will be uninhabitable… and very soon.”

Lighting crashes down and licks over their ship, cascading over the metal like water over a rock face.

She hides her eyes. “No. Please, get me out of here. I can’t – Ben, I _can’t.”_

He moves his palm up and down her spine in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. He hasn’t really had to give comfort, so he’s not quite sure he’s doing it right.

“I need your help, then.” When she looks at him mournfully, he raises his eyebrows and challenges her. “Unless you want out of the captain’s chair.”

That worked, as he knew it would. Frowning at him, she turns back towards the viewscreen and does her damn job, engaging the drive to break atmo. The familiar pressure of going off-world sits heavy on his chest, taking his breath away. He holds tight, waiting for the weight to lift and for them to be free of this terrible place. No matter where he exiles himself to in this universe – it will _never_ be this planet. The devastation is…

Ben’s eyes fly wide.

“Gods.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her stomach is sick. It’s filled with nothing, but it still wants to turn inside out. She wants to close her eyes but knows it won’t help – she’ll see this in her mind for the rest of her life. No matter how quickly she looks away, it will haunt her, leaving ghosts in the shadows behind her eyelids.

Bodies float like little angels. Shattered ship parts twinkle and twirl with the sun eclipsed behind them. Rey sees red armor, black, white. Uniforms, flight suits, standard issue clothes, bare skin. Some are humanoid and some not. Some rotate around each other like dancers, hair frozen in waves as they orbit one another in this hovering mass grave.

Eyes opened to the point of dry dust, they seem to stare at her. One cascades towards the viewscreen with bubbles of frozen red dotting the vacuum of space around it. It looks at her, she at it, and then she dry-heaves with her arms around her waist, clutching herself for dear life as spittle hangs from her bottom lip.

Wordlessly, Ben stands and moves between the two stations. He awkwardly fumbles with levers and toggles and pedals and sticks – never making a sound, never complaining – just making it happen. She forgets pretending to be strong. Forgets vying for top dog of who-knows-what and who-knows-best. Rey gives up any pretense that she has her shit together, and just lets the man in front of her drive.

She feels the inertia of movement kick in as he propels them out of range. Away. As far as they can get, please. She wants to be lightyears away from Exegol’s new planetary rings; the ones made from the wreckage of this massacre.

After a few minutes have passed, she rubs her mouth over her leggings to wipe off the mess and asks a trembling, “What do you see?”

When he doesn’t answer, she looks up – but only at his face. _Nowhere_ other than his face – which is completely blank. Not angry, not sad, not scared. He releases his hold on every instrument he’d been tweaking and leans forward against the panel – staring. Just staring.

Afraid, she asks once more. “What do you see?”

His voice is tight. “Nothing.”

She gulps, his image blurring from the wetness of her eyes. “Like, ‘I don’t want you to look’, you mean?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He lets out an unrecognizable sound. Like a laugh – like a cry. “I literally see _nothing.”_

She’s confused, and it shows. Without sympathy, his eyes turn hard and he gestures.

Black. Just black. It’s as if someone had taken an inkpot and painted the ship with it.

She tries to speak, but her voice catches. She reaches out, pointing lamely towards the void. Childishly high-pitched, she begs, “Where are the _stars?”_

It doesn’t compute. It’s unreal. She feels like she might laugh, this is all so hysterical.

Until the panic kicks in.

She turns sharply to the dashboard, tweaking scanners and sensors. Opening pings to the holonet and comm channels. She listens to static as she twists the receiver dials. Ben is no help. He’s fallen back into his chair, heel placed up on the edge of his seat, plucking his lip idly in thought – and it _pisses her off._

“You could _do_ something,” she accuses.

“What’s left to do?”

She grunts a non-answer. There are a great _many_ things to do – and she’s going to fill up that tick list in her mind, checkbox by checkbox, thank you very much. Anything to drown out that thought that…

Radio static crackles and she clings to it like a child, eyes flying open wildly as she adjusts the dial and skyrockets the volume. It’s a code – a… frequency of sorts. Whistles, clicks. It’s Binary. For no reason, since the sound is cacophonous at level ten, she tilts her ear closer to the speaker as she listens.

He laughs, then – just at the same time her blood runs cold. The droid-speak twitters on, repeating in a pattern – a pattern that will last as long as any ‘Order ships maintain enough auxiliary power to run comms.

A command from the Emperor, himself. A code hidden deep inside every First and Final Order dreadnought. A code to be executed by the systems without manual intervention; no override.

Ben’s laughter is low and angry. Something that may turn to violence very soon. He looks at her and spins the speaker’s volume back down to four. With an expression that makes her blood scream, _'danger’,_ he smiles at her and speaks.

“Palpatine may not have survived – but he still _won.”_

Quieter now, the Binary mutters repetitively, as it likely will for eons. It translates roughly to:

_The Emperor’s death has been relayed from station 89023-LXH; implement End protocol. All dreadnoughts point your turrets on your designated suns and fire._

Almost in singsong, Ben murmurs, “There is no light; there is no _life._ They ended the stars, Rey – and that ends _everything else.”_ He gets up out of his chair in a sharp movement, striding out of the cockpit in heavy stomps and throwing two last words over his shoulder.

“Even us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

She’s in the small galley, pulling all supplies and rations out and categorizing them. Exegol’s star survives – but the planet is already so irradiated that there’s no way they can safely return. They have no space suits and all of the dead ships they’ve come across are scanned as structurally unsound and unable to be boarded.

This means that _this,_ the assortment of goods in front of her, is all that stands between them and death. There has to be a solution to this. She’ll meditate on it later – absolutely – but, for now, this is something she’s used to.

She estimates his body weight as he skulks cabin to cabin. Sometimes laughing, sometimes screaming, sometimes throwing things in thunderous effort, sometimes all three at once. She can’t deal with that right now – whatever the childish ‘KyloBen’ has going on is his to deal with. All she cares about is how many calories he’ll need to consume on a daily basis to avoid having medical issues.

They’re both about to drop a little weight.

She’s used to it – but something tells her that the man howling in the other room _isn’t._

Ticking off items with her fingers and counting that together with her toes, she figures about two months. Three – if they don’t mind drawing out their own deaths, just in case. They’ll only make it that long because of the recycled water. She’d never peed, cleaned it, drank it, and peed it out again – but life is made from such experiences.

She smiles at herself, compartmentalizing what she’s doing away from reality. This is just another storm to weather. Even Jakku’s mighty X’us’R’iia eventually fades away, giving you relief and respite. She just needs to keep them alive until then.

An intact ship.

Survivors.

A lost world.

A hidden star.

Anything is possible – so long as they don’t die, first. Her job is to buy them days, hours, minutes, seconds.

The shattering of glass catches her attention. Whatever that is, isn’t good. She’s up on her toes and taking long strides to the cockpit, the sound of KyloBen’s heavy breaths helping to tell the tale of his continued violence. She half expects him to be throwing the cockpit chairs through the wall by the time she gets there. Rounding the corner though, she’s completely wrong. He’s... in awe. 

He’s looking at his fist as if he’s never seen it before, the glaze of a red gash trailing blood over his knuckles. She can’t help but grunt at him in disappointment, but – when he looks at her – his eyes are all sweetness and innocence. It almost takes her off her guard. _Almost._

“We can’t afford to be wasting liquid like that, Ben.” She clucks her tongue at him. “I don’t think I can refilter B negative.”

He marvels at himself. “No – it only works with type O.”

And she scoffs. “It doesn’t work with _anything_ except real water and… yellow water. So stop tearing everything apa-“

“You healed me,” he cuts her off.

She looks at him in shock for a second before remembering that she’d done it without his consent. “I…”

“I told you not to.” But he doesn’t sound mad. He’s looking at his hand, clenching and unclenching his bloody fist.

Cocking her hips, she raises her eyebrows. “I do a lot of things you tell me not to do.”

“And _don’t_ do the things I _do_ tell you to,” he agrees, smiling at their banter.

The mood clears slightly. “Are you going to stare at your hand all day?”

He lowers it, all amusement fading.

“There are things we can do to prepare. There is a whole galaxy out there, Ben – a whole _universe._ You can’t just throw bunks around, slice yourself up, and wait to die.”

His lips quirk, irritated. “I absolutely can.”

“Don’t be a child.” She means it teasingly, but the way he inhales and pouts at the floor tells her she’d missed the mark. She takes a beat and tries again. “There has to be life – _somewhere_ has to hold life.”

He gestures weakly at the viewscreens. Lips trembling, his voice is broken when he asks, “Where?” Reaching over at the charts, he brings up navigation – and it’s all red errors. “Without stars to map, we have no map. We don’t even know where _we_ are. You lived planet-side all your life; you can’t even begin to comprehend the vastness of space. Even if we’re not alone – the chances of us ‘happening on anyone’ are so low – they’re almost negative.”

When she swallows, it’s loud. “Pessimist.”

“Realist.” He looks at his knuckles again, mildly. He waits for a few seconds to let her breathe that word in. When he speaks again, it’s filled with that wonder. “You know – I’ve been a warrior most of my life. I had so many aches and pains, I didn’t even realize how much I hurt anymore. Not until you healed me.” He looks at her, that soft, dreamy look back on his face.

“Now I don’t hurt _here,”_ he gestures down the trunk of his body – indicating everything. “I only hurt _here.”_ His fingers poke right in towards his heart. “And I’m tired.”

His expression terrifies her. It’s resigned.

“Please,” she begs.

He looks at her, eyes round in sorrow.

Her voice is like a whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”

His lips quirk. “Think of it this way – you get to double your portions. Keep searching for that one in a million chance.”

He’s teasing her. She knows he is, but she crumples down into a sob anyway. Nonsense words are falling from her lips that mostly consist of the word, ‘please’. Please don’t say that, please don’t leave me, please I need you, please help me, please fix it, please tell me it’s a dream, please make it stop.

He holds her in his arms then, and she’d barely have realized it except for that they both smell horribly. Sweat and madness and futility.

She’s choking on her tears. “I’d rather live 60 days with you than 120 days without you.”

He stiffens underneath her.

“I can’t be alone anymore. I just _can’t._ I’ll go mad – I just…”

He huffs something sad. “Better someone than no one.”

She sniffles a ‘huh’ sound, but he squeezes her shoulders again – like he always does before he pushes her away. She’s wiping her nose with the back of her arm and he looks deeper into the ship.

Clearing his throat. “There’s a sonic ‘fresher. You want it first?”

She’s still wiping as she shakes her head.

He nods, eyes unfocused. “Me, then.” Walking out of the room, he pauses a moment to say a soft, “I’ll try to make it a good 60 days.”

And the tears come, fresh.

She looks at the walls of the ship to select her canvas. She’d found a solid tool she can use, and it would be cathartic to start back up.

It’s time to start counting the days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Funny – when you’ve spent most of your life lamenting your existence, you’d think that death would be a comfort. Instead, Kylo is on-edge with all the things he doesn’t want to lose. All the things he’s left undone, unsaid, unfinished.

The Holocron he’d been slowly pulling answers from, whose secrets hid in riddles. He never cracked through that last barrier. What was there? Was it some trick that could have solved everything? Was it something that could have nudged Palpatine another way? Something that could have stopped his deadly transmission? Mulling it over is senseless, though. It's likely that any scenario in which the dark Emperor loses would still have set off this cataclysm. No matter what, Kylo would have had left behind a trail of incomplete dreams.

He'd had started writing poetry a few months back. Was horrible at it, really, but he’d actually been trying to articulate some of the rage he had in words. Once he was Supreme Leader, he’d tried to keep his temper and destruction in check. While he was in front of an audience, anyway. His quarters had three chambers off of the main living space. Two of which, he would destroy at his leisure – one was more sacred.

That one is where he would down lay his head to sleep... and dream of her.

This is not the time for that. His survivalist skills kick in and he reminds himself there are other things that should be on his mind.

Food. He’d always been perfunctory about food. Keeping his body in the condition it was in required a certain regimen for intake. No muss, no fuss, no decadence - still, this is something that will wear on his formidable temper. Better to mentally prepare for that inevitably. 

Water. He’s sure he’ll come to miss that more and more over the coming days – but, today is inanely irritating. A _sonic_ after this hell? A hot shower pummeling his body with steaming rain would be a Godsend in comparison. But there are no Gods anymore.

At least he’s not drinking his own urine yet. There’s still that to look forward to. He twists the knobs and runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. 

In a way, he’d always wanted to die with her, but it has always been more romantic in his imagination. A sort of, ‘I don’t want to kill you, but one of us must die.’ Or a, ‘You fool – all I ever wanted was you. Not the Resistance, not the Order; you! Please don’t die… wahh.’

He picks up a comb and wonders why he should bother. He should just throw himself out of an airlock and be done with it. He’d never been one for torture, self-inflicted or otherwise. It was a cruelty only those he followed most closely were allowed to inflict on him. One being in particular, actually. Better to have one quick moment of discomfort rather than days of echoing hunger and sorrow. 

But, then there’s Rey.

She needs someone. Anyone. It doesn’t matter who it is – so it might as well be him. If he truly wants to save her, saving her body is only one part. Saving her mind is another. It wouldn’t be kind to let the one you’d stalk to the end of the universe cry her eyes out alone, now would it?

No, better to let her cry because you’re a violent, antisocial, maniac who has a penchant for temperamental outbursts and sarcasm.

And wit. He’ll admit to a bit of wit. 

The question now was, how to set her at ease? How to help her survive? 

Should he hide his portions, so she’ll have some left after he expires? It could be added as one of the romantic endings possible. He imagines she’s reminiscing in a room he’ll have left behind, only to find that he’d stored all of this food - just so she could go on another day. He could even leave a horrible poem.

Though, with his luck - she’d never go in there and he’ll have starved early for no reason. She’ll be all alone, kicking his corpse, crying, ‘Ben, you idiot!’ 

The truth is that he has more body mass to steal nourishment from, so she’ll likely wither first.

He grimaces. Walking through this logically is unsettling. Upsetting. Makes him feel unclean in a way a hundred sonics can’t burn from his body.

No, this isn’t something he’s going to plan. This isn’t a mission. This isn’t strategic. This is... the end. Even if it’s tragic, even if he’d dreamed of it a million other ways, he’d rather be in this ship with her than be star-stuff outside. If he can’t give her more time, he can at least offer her companionship. 

Unrequited love is its own kind of romance.

And he is good at living for the whims of others.

~~~~~~~

_Keep to the task list, Rey. Just focus on the next thing._

And that thing is absolutely to stop crying. Over the past few months, she’d been spoiled with the ability to shed tears. On Jakku, you didn’t cry; crying was a waste of resources. She comes out of the ‘fresher after taking care of the necessary with one of those _resources_ in-hand and pours it through the filtration system. She doesn’t know if it’s better to wait until the clean water has run out or just to let it all mix.

Oh well. Water is water.

The next thing is to make sure there is another to-do, so that she can maintain her sanity. It’s something people overlook when going into solitude. Without a firm grip on your to-dos, time slips away. Your days and nights blur, nothing gets done, and your existence becomes meaningless.

Rey from Nowhere will _not_ be meaningless. Even if her largest act of heroism destroyed the galaxy she was trying to save.

That slams her in the chest when she realizes it, but she quickly puts it away in her mind. Tucks it deep under anything and everything shameful she’s ever done or experienced. You can live a whole life while tucking these things away.

The fourth thing on her list is to get to know Ben better but, before that, the third thing is to sleep.

“Hey,” she interrupts him holding his mother’s saber and staring off, thoughtfully. “Are you tired?”

He blinks at her, each eyelid closing out of sync, obviously exhausted. “No.”

She scoffs. “I thought you were more honest than that.”

He looks at her, blankly. “Then, yes.”

Before she can think too much of it, “Come to bed with me.”

The sleep wipes off his face as soon as the last word leaves her lips.

She gestures behind herself with a curt nod. “There’s a captain’s quarters – which you almost annihilated, by the way – and two shared bunks.” Her sigh is heavy, “Will you stay in the same room with me? I’m lighter, so I could get top bunk, but if you-“

“Yes.” His agreement is so immediate, she can’t help but smile at him. The corners of his lips tip up. “I won’t fit, but I’ll stay.”

She crosses her arms and leans against the entryway wall. “I would have thought you’d be more picky about it. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

Shoulders moving up and down quickly, he shrugs. “I lived at a temple for years. I’m no stranger to sharing, and my deepest secrets keep themselves.”

Interested, “What are your deepest secrets?” she teases.

He looks at her with those sad eyes again and the pause is too long. His lips part and he just stares at her until she starts to grow uncomfortable under his gaze.

“I’ll tell you.” He stands and tosses the hilt back onto the soft surface of the cushions. “Before the end, I’ll tell you.”

She sniffs and shakes her head a bit, clearing that thought right out. For all he knows, they could find what they need and live long lives. Rey is very good at holding onto the idea of ‘happily-ever-after’s. She hoists herself off the doorway, blinking and trying to come to a decision.

What the hell, life is short.

Perhaps very short.

“In the cavern, you wouldn’t let me hold you for very long. Please – if you don’t mind – please don’t do that. Don’t push me away. I need… I need to touch you. I need that to feel like I’m not alone. I went years without touching anyone, but now I crave it. When you push me away,” she shakes her head, “I feel so broken.”

He’s always so honest, and this is as honest as she can possibly be.

She’s wrapped up in him without having to say another word. They’re both fresh this time, smelling like nothing at all, yet she sort of misses the humanity that came with being filthy together. Still, his arms fold around her from behind and he nuzzles into the crook of her neck, clasping his fingers together over her exposed midriff. She’s never been held like this. This is somehow different from any embrace she’s ever felt and, when his breath releases on her, she gasps a little.

At that sound, he stiffens and moves as if to release her... but she refuses, snagging him roughly and pulling his heavy hands around her waist once more. Wordlessly, he digs his nose under her ear while caressing her exposed belly with his thumbs. She can feel his callouses gently rasping over her navel and her eyes can’t help but flutter closed. She tips her head to the side instinctually and feels him follow her skin, the softness of his lips sending tingles everywhere. He’s not kissing her - but she trembles, anyway. Even her knees are wobbling. She’d think it was the sadness – but that’s not what’s on her mind right now.

A warm exhale flows against her and she parts her lips, silently. She can’t help but slide her hands over his, threading their fingers together as his plush mouth hovers over her. His low, breathy voice gains a deep new undertone when he speaks.

“Is this how your friends touch you?”

She shakes her head against him, head lolling against his collar. “No,” she breathes. His lips slide down her neck and she lets out a sort of whimper. 

He’s hot. Every inch of his skin is so hot.

“Good.” His hands slowly drift down around her lower belly and hips. “I want to be special.”

She doesn’t know what to say, other than, “There’s no one like you. I’ve never met _anyone_ like you.”

Bitterness enters his voice and his chest pulls from her back, though he leaves one hand against her hip. “All the better for you, I suppose.”

She feels like she can’t open her eyes. She just wants him to come back. Maybe for him to kiss her right where her jaw meets her throat – but he’s guiding her away on unsteady legs.

“I agree; you get the top bunk. Otherwise, I might collapse the thing and crush you.”

A distracted laugh is all she can express as he leads her to the bunk room with two stacked beds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spend days like this. She counts their rations, digs tick-marks into a selected wall, reminds him that she wants to know about his secrets – like they’re gossipy stories that are easy to tell – and starves him. He’d be furious at her, at _life,_ except for five reasons:

One. He’s falling madly in love with every movement of her body. If he’d been aware of her before, even from far away, having her near him is driving him nearly insane with want. It’s not like he’s completely ignorant to what goes on between a man and a woman – and he’s positive he’ll proposition her before she dies – but he’s more afraid of her saying yes than he is of her saying no. He’s used to her telling him ‘no’, after all. Any change in tone makes him uneasy. And my, has she been changing her tone. She must be very, _very_ lonely, and very, _very_ naïve.

Two. Hearing her breathe as she sleeps at night is a pleasure he’d never thought existed. In this ship – there is only a single danger, and it’s not one that means he needs to sleep with one eye open. When she snores, he startles awake, but always smiles like an idiot before going back to bed.

Three. He’d found paper. Actual, physical paper. He sneaks off to write his inane poetry and chooses a language with characters she doesn’t recognize, because of… reasons. He finds that his romantic side pours out more easily when he doesn’t have to be afraid that she’ll read, scoff, and criticize. He’d painted quite an imaginary life for them with his stylus and prays that the inkwell lasts longer than he does. Some of it makes his heart, and other parts of him, throb when he pens it down, and that’s when it’s the most difficult to go back to her and acknowledge that their whirlwind love is just a fantasy. It’s a bittersweet, tragic feeling.

Four. She talks to him about the Force. Everyone in his life either already knew or didn’t care to learn from one such as him. She asks him questions, meditates with him, and doesn’t reject his point of view. Sometimes she gets quiet – very quiet – but she never fights with him. In fact, it’s like the anger has been snuffed out of her. She seems to be making the most of every little minute. Perhaps she’s just more used to going hungry, or maybe she’s dragging every ounce of pleasure out of life that’s left. She’s insanely optimistic, and he’s given up trying to talk her down. She scours the comms every day, runs diagnostics on the ships, and has managed to extend the array to bleed further into the distance. It’s on her checklist.

So is staring into the black for almost a solid hour – searching with her bare eyes. He’s taken to sitting beside her and holding her hand while she hopes.

Five. He touches her _constantly._ And she welcomes it, every time. The filth in his mind takes it to other places – but he never stops himself from taking at least a small drop of her pleasure. He hasn’t kissed her, no – that’s holy – but... other things. She probably doesn’t even understand what he’s doing. What he’s doing _specifically_ to cause her to want him.

A morning caress of her cheek is standard. Holding her shoulders and touching their noses together as they talk is a matter of course. Trailing his fingertips down her belly and hips when they lie and chat in the captain’s bunk is a special treat and he has to hide himself beneath the sheets when he watches her skin blush, her breath quicken, and her lips part. Still, she never asks for more – or less. She just lets him. And he’s gentle. It’s only when she’s asleep that he takes care of the burning within him.

Once, he’d felt a trickle of her awareness – but he was too far gone to do anything about it other than bury his face into his pillow when he came. With any luck, she’d think he was crying. It’s not like he hasn’t given in to the occasional misty eye, though she scolds him when he does.

This is the best his life has ever been. This is the best way he can think of to die. If she’s taking every moment of pleasure out of this life they’ve built together, then he sees no reason why he shouldn’t either.

Which is why, when they actually find a star in the sky, a blinking fleck of light, his heart breaks.

She punches it into the nav system - squealing in delight for that one bright beacon of hope to lead the way. It will take a few days to get there, and he is grateful for at least that.

The tally on the wall says sixteen days. The water recycling hadn’t even had to kick in yet. Sixteen days of bliss and now she’ll find what she’s looking for and leave him. Even still, it was the best sixteen days of his life.

He hides in the ‘fresher when he cries, and pretends his stomach is sick when she asks.

It’s that night, during their evening ritual, that he can’t help but expose one of the secrets she’d asked for. After all, he’d promised. 

“Rey,” he catches her attention as his hands smooth down her inner thighs and ever-closer to the heat his fingers pray for. She’s panting and all he wants to do is position himself and take what his body begs for. “I love you.”

She doesn’t react too strongly, only to turn her head to the side and smile, softly.

“Thank you.”

It’s so nonchalant, it makes him grin with shyness. It was likely the best reaction he could have hoped for. Acceptance is fine wine after all of her rejection.

His heart begs, _Please let this last. I’m not ready to let her go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure how to best add it, but the reasons Exegol's star survived was that Palpatine would have wanted his occultists to continue on, even if he didn't. That he would have assumed that they could have put him back together again, like they did the first time. He could then expand from nothing, and build everything exactly how he wanted. 
> 
> I wasn't sure how to add that in, but that was my mind set. :)


	3. The Touch of Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter briefly references infertility.

\--------------------------

The fact that he’d initially preferred for her to die on an ‘Order transport depresses him, considerably. He would have trapped her alone with just him and the vastness of nowhere, and he's ashamed of himself for that selfish instinct. Kylo’s always known himself to be _obsessive,_ but not _possessive –_ especially not when it would result in the two of them ending slowly, painfully, just so he could take advantage of her innocence for one moment longer.

The star hosts a series of planets – most too far from the light or too gaseous to be habitable, but there is one almost ‘Goldilocks’ planet. Not too cold – but almost too hot. The poles seem temperate enough to live in and there _are_ signs of life. What that means, he has no idea. He also doesn’t know if there is food or water that won’t poison their frail human systems. They have no medical facilities to speak of; any serious infection, injury, or sickness equals death.

But tell that to Rey. Her grin has been so wide for so long that even _his_ face hurts.

They’ve become closer in unexpected ways. He can’t quite explain it, but the glimpses of her thoughts that had tingled through his senses before have opened into a waterfall of information. He could always read minds when he focused – but he’s not doing this on purpose, and he isn’t sure if she realizes it’s happening, either.

Honestly, he’s not even sure he can decipher all the images and feelings that come through. Sometimes a strange impression of himself? Sometimes hope? Heat? Fear? Suns and Moons? Need? Loss? 

Diligence, though – he can always feel diligence, assuredness, and resolution come from her in every waking moment. 

It’s their dyad connecting them more deeply, he imagines. It’s evolving now that they’re in close proximity. No need to carve a hole in reality, connecting them across time and space, when all he needs to do is peek his head around a corner to find her. Or raise his voice above a whisper to be heard.

Once she’s done with him and they’re at a good distance again, perhaps the Force will reopen that portal. If he’s lucky, maybe it will be when he needs it most...

Which might be ‘always.’

Of course he assumes that she’ll run from him, eventually. Some humanoid, sentient species will find her and adore her as a Goddess with magical, mystical Force-powers. They’ll lift her high and cater to her every whim. Deify her and vilify him, once they discover his violent side. Once reminded of his faults - she’ll remember who he _really_ is and sorrowfully bid him goodbye as her new society pushes him into exile.

This is depressing.

The closer they get to their unknown Eden, the more anxious he is. The more rageful. Still, he understands that nothing that will drive her away faster than a flare of his temper. Admission of his fear. A barrage of his desperate _need._ So, instead, he scribbles his lines so hard he rips the parchment.

~~~~~~~~~

She won’t think about her friends. She won’t. Another thing to go into the boxes in her mind. She focuses on the possibilities ahead of them, instead. The opportunity she _knew_ existed. And – if this planet doesn’t work, she’ll continue her search and drag Ben along with her, every step of the way. 

He’s overthinking everything… but that’s just not Rey’s way. When she overthinks, it's upsetting. Why bother wasting energy in the darkness when there is so much _hope_ to focus on?

Still – he confessed ‘love’, and the thought plagues her.

Being cared about, she understands that concept wholeheartedly. In her way, she’s cared about everyone she’d ever met. Even Teedo back on Jakku, that sodding git; she’d wanted him to live, to find happiness, to find his next meal. It’s different from love. Love is – a scale, of sorts.

Poe would tell her he loved her, clap her back, and then do the same to everyone else in the camp. Finn would tell her he loved her, hug her tight, and then awkwardly focus on the mission at-hand. Rose would tell her she loved her, but then hide her heart away and keep secrets. 

This is Friend-Love.

Her parents had loved her, even tried to _save_ her, but she doesn’t remember the way it felt. She barely remembers the foggy shape of it. Ben’s parents had loved him – but they also abandoned him, ushering him towards his fall into darkness. Leia had loved her like a surrogate mother… but she still called out to Ben before she died; not Rey. Rey is always left behind.

This is Parent-Love.

Rose had loved Finn, watched him from far away and wished for him to be her ‘forever’ – but she never said anything clear to him. Only tried for his affection once, with incredibly bad timing, and never tried again. She just hoped, waited, got sad, gave up, and let go.

This is Romantic Love.

She doesn’t want this kind of variable feeling from him.

Being cared about – it’s beautiful. Even being loved is beautiful, in any of its forms. But she wants so much more from him in ways she can’t explain. As much as she’d once hated him, his omnipresence inside her was a rock to build all her actions on. A welcome curse, even if she won’t admit to it.

And now? Now, being near him hurts her chest and flutters her belly. When he touches her, her skin senses every inch of his fingerprints. Her very blood seems to pool its heat under his caress. She could stare at him for hours, noting every curve and angle. Every expression and gesture. She could listen to his words like a song, memorizing every lyric. She could fall into his body like an ocean and happily drown. How could she ever explain this inexplicable thing?

So she focuses on her checklist.

She’s constructed a functional scanning mechanism that she can bring on-world. Truth be told, she had to disassemble part of their array to do it, but they’d already gotten the readings they needed to move into orbit.

There is a large body of water and a huge patch of green. It seems much more welcoming than the red welts of magma that bleed across the center of the planet. She’s actually not too sure how stable this spinning orb is but, well, beggars can’t be choosers.

She grasps the door frame and swings her body into the cockpit, playfully. “We ready to go down?” she smiles, perky with excitement.

Ben sighs, ever the worrier, and sits up straighter in the co-pilot chair. He doesn’t bother responding but clicks a few buttons on the console.

“Imagine if there are people, Ben. _People._ Or – sentients, anyway. Hopefully something we can get along with.” She pauses for a moment, chuckling at herself. “In Ahch-To, there were these Temple-Caretakers and, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand any of them. It didn’t help that my mere _existence_ infuriated them.”

He’s still silent as she flops into the captain’s chair, chattering away.

“In fact, I blame you. We started off on the wrong foot and it’s absolutely your fault.” She leans forward to catch his eyes, finally getting him to look back at her. “Remember when the Force first connected us, and I shot you?”

Dryly, “No, I’d completely forgotten until just now.”

She giggles. “I actually blasted an ancient structure. It had been there since the Jedi of old, or something – and I blew a hole right through it.”

He finally cracks a grin. “Oh, yeah – I could see how that would put you on their bad side.”

She starts the landing sequences. “They basically spent the rest of my time there rebuilding everything I broke. Or made Master _Luke_ break.”

And that makes him laugh, both of them remembering that moment when his uncle tore her hut apart. She reaches over to stroke down his arm gently, enjoying his presence.

“It’s going to be okay, Ben. You’ll see. It will be _alright._ Maybe it won’t have to be just the two of us, anymore.”

The amusement in his expression fades and he drops his eyes, pursing his lips. “Maybe.”

Her soft voice holds a longing she doesn’t even hear. “Pessimist.”

~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Her scream is so loud, it echoes through his eardrums like a nightmare. His feet pound the squelching ground behind her, his boots getting sucked into the mud and nearly tripping him. Even with unsure footing, he whips around backwards and fires off two blasts, not waiting to see if they hit their mark before pressing forward, not wanting to let her get too far ahead.

Behind him is a mass of chaos and limbs. There are deep throated howls coming from several mouths – but he has no idea if it’s one being or not. Probably two? Three? All he knows is that it’s like snakes on snakes on snakes, all thrashing and wriggling over each other as it lurches and darts.

Rey reaches the ship first, slamming her palm on the hatch's control panel, closing it to bar the creature from entry into their home. She twirls to face the monster(s) that interweave and collide into each other, all only a few meters behind his pounding heels. 

He sees that familiar determination as her jaw sets and fists clench, releasing a beam of bright blue from the hilt of her saber – he can't help but distract himself long enough to wink at her before spinning on his heels and lighting up the jungle twilight with three more shots. The tinny whine of the bolts is covered by sharp barks and hisses as the beast(s) loom, keeping a small distance. But Rey is having none of that.

She lets out a battle cry, loud enough to rile his blood, and lunges towards the writhing mass. Flicking a switch, he unleashes the deadly azure light from his mother’s hilt and follows the woman of his dreams into battle. On the same side. Against the same enemy. _Together._ It’s not fighting against Palpatine; it’s better. Because _this_ only has one consequence. The creature(s) die, or they die. A simple ‘either, or’ equation. Taking out _these_ creature(s) won’t destroy every living being in the Galaxy.

...He thinks.

Honestly, they could use a little simplicity after all this apocalyptic-stuff.

Kylo’s blade lashes out fiercely and limbs start falling away. Shrieking, the creature(s) stagger-slide backwards, but Rey gives no quarter, coming in, fast-and-hot, from the other angle. Where Kylo’s swipes are long and heavy, hers are short and jabbing. If he is a butcher, she is a surgeon. All dexterity and precision.

Until it snags her leg.

Down she goes with a squawk and Kylo sees red. With a meaty fist, he grasps his pummel and _RAMS_ it down into the mass of limbs, releasing to let it carve its own way through flinching flesh. Stepping back, lightning quick, he flings his hand up and tenses his fingers – dominating the Force around him.

The creature(s)’ saber-side is all sheared-off, exposed muscle, and the rest trembles in twitches under the firm hold of Kylo’s grasp. Rey kicks away the tentacle-thing that snagged her and jumps back, lightsaber in hand, to stand beside him. Filthy, but unhurt, she’s puffing out air to blow her muck-covered tresses out of her eyes.

He can’t help but grind his teeth in his effort. “Well this is fun.”

Rey makes little introductory gestures with her chin. “Ben, these are the natives. Natives, this is Ben.” 

“What, you want me to make friends with it?” he pants out, incredulously.

She firms up her stance. “Opposite actually.”

He gives her the side eye.

Grinning and feral, she clarifies. “I want you to eat it.”

He doesn’t even have time to be taken aback before she lunges in once more for the killing blow.

…

Seems it was only one creature, after all.

~~~~

He chews with his mouth open, and it’s _hilarious_ for some reason.

Her grin is wild as she giggles at him. “Look at you, you big evil thing. Sitting here, filthy on the jungle floor, eating our friend with me in front of the fire.” 

Mouth still open, and _clearly_ unsure whether he likes the taste of their ‘friend’, he blinks at her. His words are muffled around his mouthful. “I have absolutely no idea what’s amusing about this.”

She shoves some ‘friend’ into her mouth; it’s a little slippery, a little tough, a little gamey, and _very_ bland – but it will do. She idly wonders how / if they can preserve what’s left of the carcass.

Shrugging a little, she swallows. “Who would have thought that I’d be sitting with you in some unknown forest eating some random creature under the light of some nameless star.”

He swallows, grimacing slightly before looking at her with puppy dog eyes. “You make it sound like an adventure. Like you chose to be here.”

She takes another bite, letting the juices stick to her cheeks, and has the audacity to ask an off-topic, “Do you think we could find salt?”

He looks around, muddy and matted. “You want me to go lick rocks until I find some?”

She blinks up feigning innocence. “Oh, yeah? Would you?”

He rolls his eyes and she sputters, little pieces of ‘friend’ flinging around and making her embarrass herself. They lock eyes after her rude spray of meat... and both launch into hysterics, leaning askew, elbows in wet dirt. They laugh like they’ve never laughed before, and Rey’s sides hurt with the pleasure of it.

Everything seems so wonderful. The excitement, the danger, the fun. It truly _is_ an adventure. Until she looks up at the blackness of the sky… a night without stars.

A night that will never have stars, again.

The boxes in her mind fly open – and it all comes crashing down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He cradles her, unsure of what else to do. She’d started screaming, covering her whole head with her arms, blocking her eyes and crying out like her body was being torn apart. Fear spiked in him at first, wondering if the food had been poison, after all – but as her wail hollowed into sobs, he came to understand.

She trembles in his arms like the last leaf on a winter tree. Crumbled and frail – but resolute and determined to hang on. She doesn’t say words, but she does heave weeping breaths and cough choking cries of sorrow.

He feels… alien. An ‘other’ in his lack of humanity. Insensitive and foolish for not realizing it was only a matter of time until all this finally caught up to her. He’d already had his outburst – but his wasn’t about anyone else losing their lives; it was just about _them_ potentially losing _theirs._ He had no friends, didn’t care about losing his standing, and his place in the Galaxy was already overthrown. 

Perhaps he was just used to it – used to his entire life falling away, time and again. He learned how to recreate himself in those moments. Things would burn to ash around him, but he was a Phoenix. Everything – his purpose, his persona – it would all be reborn.

The Son became

\-----The Apprentice became

\----------The Jedi Knight became

\---------------The Fallen Knight became

\--------------------Kylo Ren became

\-------------------------The Supreme Leader.

Over and over again, he was made new. His path, a cyclical tale of the desire for more and the destruction of old.

His Phoenix rises now as ‘The Companion of Rey.’

But she isn’t like him. Rey isn’t a cycle of death and rebirth. She is a root that seeks water. Instinctually, she knows that it exists and searches for it. Things will get in her way and block her, but she’ll wheedle around. She’ll press on; she’ll never give up. And, when she finds what she needs?

Flowers.

Life.

Fire and earth don’t exactly clash – but they’re looking for different things. What will happen when the role of ‘Companion’ burns to ashes?

Still, he holds her, and he rocks her. He mumbles things that don’t matter, like ‘shhh’ and ‘it’s okay’, even when he has no intention for her to ‘shhh’ and it will _never_ be okay. The sound of his voice is settling her, though, so his new role must fit him well.

He presses the crown of her hair under his chin and wraps his arms tightly around her. She’s calming into that state of detachment and he’ll likely have to put her to bed, soon. He’ll help her clean up and get her to sleep in the Captain’s room, tonight. In this stretch of silence, what can he possibly say?

Simply, “You’re not alone.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d stood directly outside the ‘fresher, waiting for her to clean up, and she’d sat with her back against the door, waiting for him, as well. Now, he curls around her from behind as they lay in the ex-Captain’s bed and she snuffles with distant sadness. He caresses her hair, raking his fingers through it and teases her, mimicking her tone from before.

“Look at you, you sweet little thing. Now we’re here, there’s unlimited water to be had, and so you’re back to crying in excess, again.” He tsks at her.

She’s in no mood, so she just curls deeper into herself.

He sighs and she can feel it. “Focus on your checklist. What’s next?”

“Lay here,” she mopes.

She feels his lips curl into a smile against the back of her head. “Next thing.”

Turning over in his arms, lying flat on her back, she blinks at him. “Listen to your voice.”

His eyes are crinkled with his grin. “Oh? And what wisdom can I impart to you, today?”

“And I want you to touch me,” she whispers, shyly.

His teasing expression softens, somehow. Something in the way she must have said it. His eyes slide to the side, looking away before his gentle hand starts to stroke her collarbone. Moving to look at his fingertips only, he glides them from her chin, down her throat… down and down. Between her breasts, over the line of her belly, right to where she knows the mound of her femininity lies. This is new. He’s never touched that far down. Or the space that lies over her heart. She feels like it must be hammering hard enough for him to hear.

She swallows as his fingers toy with the edge of her leggings, wanting him to somehow dive his hand down there, roughly – but he moves back up, instead.

His voice has a pleading quality. “What do you want from me?”

Her eyes want to close and her breath comes quickly, but she feels like she needs to look at him. To soak in his gentle expression. He’s overthinking again; she can feel it. It’s like he’s a jumble in her head lately – but she can’t pick the threads apart.

She sighs, arching her back slightly as he nears the parts of her that ache. He moves in closer, hovering over her, and she’s overcome with the urge to beg. For what? She doesn’t know.

His eyes are laser focused on her, like nothing else exists. “What do you want?” he repeats.

She shakes her head back and forth a little, unsure of what he’s asking. Or how to answer. He leans in closer and presses his weight on her for the first time, making her whimper.

“I want more of this,” she pants. “Whatever this is, I want more.”

He hums, but it’s disappointed somehow. He rests on his elbows above her, lower half pressed, hip to hip, and it’s so foreign; she thinks she might die. He whispers, so close to her mouth.

“That’s lust, Rey. Your body wants my body.”

All she can do is nod. Fast and honest.

His lips quirk in amusement, but it becomes something darker. “But I want more than that.”

“More how?”

He presses his hips into her, and she cries out a little. His nose caresses hers and he repeats, “More.”

Her lips are so close to his – so very, very close. She goes to meet him through the distance, but he snakes a hand up to get a hold of her, pinning her down on the bed.

“Do you love me?” His gaze is hot.

Her brows knit and her heart sinks. _That’s_ what he wants from her? That fickle, inconstant thing? She shakes her head, hurt. “No.”

He pulls back immediately, leaving her cold in his wake. Desolate. So lonely. He goes as if to leave her behind, so she sits up in a heartbeat and calls after him.

“Let me explain!”

Scoffing, “I think you’ve explained it quite well.” And he’s out the door.

Something happened between them, just now. She has no idea what’s going on – only that she hurt him. She’s on her feet nearly instantly, bounding after him in a single stride.

“What are you asking for?!” She snags his arm and stops him in his tracks, but he doesn’t turn around.

Childishly, head hanging down, anger simmering beneath his skin. “Nothing you can give, apparently.”

He yanks from her and storms off the ship. It only moments until she can hear him screaming outside. The sound of brush being torn from the ground and the whip crack of things being thrown nearly terrifies her. He hasn’t done this in days. She thought he was _past this._ Fury rises within her. 

She grabs both their sabers and bolts out the doorway into the black night.

He looks at her with such anguish, but all she does is throw his hilt at him. He catches it and smiles – but it’s one that cuts her.

He sounds so broken. “So, this is what we’re doing now?”

Without answering, she lights her blade. Maybe, if he can just get his energy out – he’ll calm down. Maybe he just needs to let go of that violence. He twists the grip in his hands and she poises herself for launch – waiting for the moment he shows he’s ready.

He connects his eyes to hers in a vicious glare and she leaps at him with a grunt, saber all the way over her head to strike from above, completely ready for the ricochet of the parry that will inevitably come. But it doesn’t.

The saber falls from his hands and he goes to his knees before her, still meeting her eyes. Shock overrides her system, and the cauterizing tip barely misses driving through his shoulder. His eyes swim with wetness, but he didn’t even flinch.

Horrified, she begs for the answer, “Why?”

His voice catches in his throat. “I just want to be special.”

Desperate, _“You are!”_

“Not enough!” He cuts in sharply, on the verge of tears. “Never enough. You don’t love me; you don’t _need_ me. I could be _anyone._ I’m just waiting to be replaced!”

She has no words. It’s like he’s pummeling her, and she can’t find the words fast enough.

He reminds her, cruelly, gesturing at his body, “I don’t hurt here anymore, Rey.” Then he taps his chest with two fingers, “But I’m dying _here._ You don’t have even the _slightest_ idea of what you do to me! What you’ve _always_ done to me! Tell me how to make you feel it, too.”

 _“I don’t want to!”_ she yells, and he makes a sound like she’d stabbed him. He crumples back on his haunches and puts his face in his hands.

When he looks up at her again, he’s distant. All trace of emotion now locked behind his eyes. With that familiarly mean upward curve of his lips, he intones “So, what _do_ you want? For me to listen to you? To talk? To touch you? To _bed_ you? All so you don’t have to be alone?”

He doesn’t understand. How can she make him understand?

“I could be anyone. It could be a stranger and you’d behave the same, wouldn’t you?” He seems amused, but she’s never been more insulted. Her lips pull back from her teeth in a sneer.

“That’s _NOT-“_

“Then what, Rey? _What!?”_

Like she’d tell him now.

But then his face crumbles again. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to get my hopes up, anymore. I just need so much – and I’m afraid. You’ve always rejected me, since the very beginning...” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’d hoped that being the last man alive would change that.”

Tears spill from her eyes. He has it all wrong. “Please - stop. I don’t know how to explain; I don’t have the words. You have _so many_ words, Ben, but I’ve never seen anyone do what I need. I can’t _tell you,_ but I’ve been trying to _show you._ To touch you – that’s the only way I can let you know how I feel.”

He shakes his head, mournfully. “I don’t understand.”

She casts her eyes to the sky, reaching into her mind like an empty bag, trying to come up with a way to make this make sense.

“Every time you make me feel something I can’t explain, I reach out to _touch you.”_

He’s lost, and it shows on every inch of his face.

She closes her eyes, trying to remember – trying to put herself back in those places. “After the cave of mirrors – I was so lonely. But you came to me, and you comforted me. I just had this strong emotion that filled my whole chest… and I touched you.”

She blinks up at blackness, afraid to look at him. Afraid his emotion will stop her voice. “When you killed Snoke and we fought on the same side, we went back to back in battle… I reached down, and I _touched you.”_

She does look at him, then. He gets on his feet, looking at her like she’s the sun. Like she’s a dream come true.

“When I thought you were going to die, I couldn’t bear it. Everything in me hurt – and I just couldn’t let you leave me. So, I _touched you.”_

Stepping in towards her, he closes the distance and she just wants to fall into him.

“And, when I was in your arms – knowing you’d come for me, I felt like I would explode from everything inside. And I-“

“You kissed me,” he whispers, and it’s only moments before his lips are on hers. It’s different from when she’d done it. It’s frantic, possessive; it takes over her senses – and it’s _perfect._ He kisses her until she has no air left, but she doesn’t care. She breathes in what he exhales into her mouth until she’s lightheaded, nearly drunk on him. When he finally pulls away, she wraps her arms around him, ravenous.

“I don’t want you to love me, Ben Solo. I want you to _need me._ I want your obsession to last forever. I want you to give me everything I ever ask for. I want to own you, all the way down to the cells in your body. I have no other words to describe it.”

It’s like he’s holding back, like it’s taking everything in him not to dive in and annihilate her, and she drinks it up like wine.

Trembling, his hands roaming anywhere and everywhere all at once, he whispers, “That’s love.”

Shaking her head against him, she tries to contradict – but he silences her with another heated kiss.

“That’s _my kind of love,”_ he clarifies. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

And passion ignites within her, stronger than she’s ever felt it.

“Show me,” she demands. 

_“Show me.”_

~~~~~~~~

In the ship once more, he opens her lips with his tongue, thrusting hotly into her mouth. Her delicate hands clench against his shoulders, digging her nails in, and it hurts like a dark fantasy. It takes everything in him not to bite her. Devour her. His mind is on fire. 

Her body is light, but the meaning is heavy, leashing him harder – tying him tighter to her. His heart, his soul, every ounce of him is hers. She owns him, now... even more than before. And, ohh, how he wants exactly _that._ To worship every inch of her, beg for every drop, pray for every sound and movement. 

She’s absolutely right, there aren’t words for what this is. 

Madness, maybe. 

If it’s time to fall to hell, then he’s ready to let go. 

He’s both numb and electric as he strips her, flinging wrappings from her body like he’s wiping away sin. She is a pale goddess before him, and he dips her back to marvel at her wonders, to swallow her skin in his urgency. 

He watches her gasp and writhe, and its pure seduction. Every piece of him is pulling her closer, closer, until she’s pleading beneath him. He can’t hear anything but her song as he presses his most aching tip against her. His breath stutters and she moans a sound he’s never heard – but wants to hear again. And again. Forever.

He slides, adjusts, rams, and hits home. Her pain rakes through his mind as if this was the last barrier between their connection and he hisses through his teeth, eyes closed in ecstasy. 

He’s feral; he can’t help it. It hurts her, but he can’t stop – maybe it’s _because_ it hurts her that he likes it so much. But she’s no saint, his Rey. Her filthy mouth tells him to scar her forever. To take what belongs to him. Even in her submission, she is his Queen. If she wants every inch of him, who is he to refuse her? 

It’s never felt so good to be told what to do. 

Desire. Need. All these words pale in comparison to the blind ownership he requires. She’s unleashed a new monster in him, and his flowery love poems burn to ashes. A virgin’s assumption of what passion must mean. A pale and sterile imitation of the insanity in his mind. 

His sounds are obscene, his thrusts slap against her, her wetness seeps over his skin and coats him in perfection. This is _everything._ There is nothing outside this moment. The scent of her drives him on like an animal. Like a beast. And she loves it. She soaks up every moment like a sponge and commands just as easily as she begs. And, my, does she beg. 

His Empress has found her words, it seems, her lyrics inspiring his every touch.

He knows what she wants. He knows what she _craves._

And now? 

He’ll give it to her. 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Rey stares lovingly at the man who lays unconscious beside her. His hair is frazzled, his face completely defenseless with his cheek pushed up awkwardly. His lips are pulled comically to the side and it’s adorable. She wants to watch him every moment from now until when he wakes, making internal bets with herself on whether or not he’ll drool.

They’ve spent months like this. In bed. Going out to further clear out their little slice of paradise and create their homestead. Ben even made a friend.

It’s a fluffball. No bigger than the palm of her hand. It floats in the air, one gray tuft and two beady eyes. How it stays afloat is anyone’s guess – but it clings to Ben like it’s imprinted, or something. It twiddles around the air, even now. He named it, ‘Idiot.’ When she scolds him, he reminds her that the thing’s brain is _not big_. Plus, it’s likely damaged from the amount of times Ben’s swatted it away. It keeps coming back, though – a glutton for punishment. Or, maybe it’s appropriately named after all.

He won’t admit to it – but Ben likes his little ‘Idiot.’ Is growing fonder every day, actually.

He’s softening in general.

With nothing to fight for, or against, it’s like he can finally breathe. She knows. It’s like she lives half in her head, half in his now. Like the joining of their bodies united their minds. There is a peace in it – Rey knows that she’ll never be betrayed or hurt by secrets. Knowing that his feelings go to the root of him is the most blissful thing she’s ever felt.

She bites her lips to stifle a laugh, watching him as he twitches his eyebrow, ‘Idiot’ flitting around his hairline. Rey blows on it and it floats away on her wind. She grins, watching it waft around the room, carelessly.

She’s teaching Ben how to scavenge and he’s teaching her to hunt. They’re mapping their area and periodically taste-testing the fauna for safety. One had spit purple pollen at them, and they’d shagged until they’d passed out of exhaustion. She’d joked that they’d save that plant for their anniversaries.

He’d laughed then.

He laughs a lot more, now.

It’s still quiet in the sky – but she’s gotten used to the near-black. It’s just them and a distant moon.

She wonders if there are seasons here. She’s seen them in Ben’s mind and finds them beautiful. Things like autumn and winter.

The only sadness that’s come in the past few weeks was when he’d teased her about being the last man and woman alive. He’d told her the story of the ancient lovers – the first humans in existence – who’d populated the land with all of their children.

She had to tell him then that Plutt sterilized all his slaves. Maternity and children don’t quite fit into the life they were forced to live. He hadn’t said anything, but she felt a small dream die inside him. Being who he is, he became sarcastic – informing her that brothers and sisters shouldn’t fall in love, anyway. And who would doom their children to a life without touch?

No, Rey and Ben Solo will be the last humans. They will explore this world and make it their own. They’ll adopt as many ‘Idiots' as will have them. They’ll adore every inch of this land and every inch of each other. If one dies, the other will follow; they’re already so interwoven that the thought of being single-minded again terrifies them. They meditate in the Force with that one prayer in mind. The prayer that they’ll always be together, as long as they both shall live.

Until the Force goes on without them...

…and the last star turns to dust.

End. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first official Fanfiction Exchange. When I got my set of prompts, I was overwhelmed. There were so many options! But then I read the phrase “Post apocalyptic: Rey and Ben are the only two people left alive” and, well, that was that. 
> 
> Right now, my name must remain a mystery. Once the "anonymous" requirement is lifted (March 15), I will update to unveil my SECRET IDENTITY! Leave a comment if you want me to reply with my details, once I'm able to. I'll also be able to recognize my wonderful beta and the fantabulous person who helped create my moodboard.
> 
> To ‘WhereTheFunEnds’ - I really hope you liked my story. *Your* story. Thank you for the perfect prompt, and I hope you’re happy you participated in the exchange. 
> 
> Please allow me to thank those of you who took a chance on an unfinished, anonymous work. Those who have kudo'd and commented have really made me feel so happy. I appreciate the effort; it means the world.


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